The Rest is Detail
by Peachdreamsandperseus
Summary: These are the kisses that they pour absolutely every single ounce of love and compassion into, the ones that tell each other "I am yours and you are mine. Everything really is going to be alright so long as we can brave the storm together." - based on THAT moment from the ITV drama advert that aired the other day. Slightly spoiler-ish for series three but I couldn't resist.


_So I saw THAT clip from series three and, needless to say, I've been watching it over and over again since. There's just so much that can be said about that kiss and so I couldn't resist sharing my own interpretation. It's so loving and tender - not to mention his absolutely delicious hair and jawline - I'm rambling now but I just have all these feels. Anyway, I'm useless at writing fluff - useless at writing anything, really - but I thought I'd give it a go. I'm not sure how accurate my Irish is either (I Googled it and you know how these things can be), but nevermind. Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think :) x_

* * *

They've known from the beginning that this wasn't going to be easy – from the earliest days of innocent friendship to the angst ridden war years where true feelings were both revealed and repressed, a failed elopement and starting their new life together in Ireland has taught them that nothing will ever be straight forward. Life isn't a fairytale...

...but wouldn't everything be awfully boring if it was?

It was on the grounds of this very estate that they'd met for the first time as a working class boy from Dublin and an aristocratic young girl with a sharp mind and an eagerness to discover the wider world. Now, years later, they stand here as a man and woman – a husband and wife – back where it all began and tackling the next great test that life has thrown at them. Tonight has been both physically and emotionally draining. He'd worn all the right clothes and said all the right things, acted the perfect gentleman while she had slipped effortlessly back into her role as the darling society daughter but, at the end of the day, nobody could seem to forget the past. To many of the people sitting around that dinner table he would forever be that grubby little chauffeur who seduced the youngest daughter of the household and robbed her of her innocence.

**_-xxx-_**

She watches him in the mirror as she brushes her hair – a much shorter task since she cut it all off on a complete whim one afternoon. He's fidgeting with his fingernails, something she's noticed he always does when something's bothering him. She catches his eye and he gives her a melancholy smile in return.

"You looked so beautiful tonight," he tells her.

"It felt strange. Uncomfortable even," she admits. "I'm so sorry for the way they treated you... it wasn't fair and..."

"Sybil, please don't," he interrupts. "Please don't apologise for this. None of this is your fault... we knew we weren't exactly going to be welcomed back with open arms like nothing ever happened..."

"But that's no excuse for their behaviour Tom and you know it."

"I'm Irish, _ma mhuirnín_, I've heard far worse..."

Sybil sighs and, setting the brush down on her dressing table, she moves to climb into bed next to him. Lovingly, she cups his face in her hand, the claddagh ring he'd given to her on their wedding day pressing into the skin of his cheek and forever serving as a symbol of the vows they had made to each other last summer.

"When I was a child and I'd just found out that Mary and Patrick were to marry, Papa told me that it was because he, Mama, and Grandpapa wanted her to inherit all of this someday as Countess. I asked him what he wanted me to be and do you know what he said?"

Tom shakes his head. "No."

"Happy. He wanted nothing more to see me... well, all three of us really... happy. I think that hurts me the most about everything that's happened. I **am **happy, so blissfully happy with a man who loves me far more than I could ever deserve and hope for. I finally... Ow!"

"Are you alright?" he asks, a wave of panic washing over him as she clutches her stomach.

"I'm fine... more than fine. I think someone just wants to make his presence known," Sybil laughs. Of course, they had no idea if the baby was a boy but it had just become so much easier to refer to it as 'he' after her mother and sisters-in-law back in Ireland had told her that they were all convinced that it was.

Tom smiles weakly – he's desperate to feel what she feels, the fluttering beneath her skin as the tiny life that they've created together begins to make his or her mark upon the world – and he's beginning to get impatient, much to his wife's constant amusement. Gently, she takes his hand in her own and places it on her stomach just below her ribcage.

"Do you feel that?"

"Yes," he nods, honestly not knowing whether to laugh or cry. "That is... incredible." For a man who makes a living writing and who usually possesses the gift of the gab, he's honestly at a complete loss as to what to say right now.

Sybil laughs. "I told you it wouldn't be long," she says and the look of absolute wonder in those beautiful blue eyes of his completely melts her heart. Besides being fit and healthy, the only thing she hopes and prays for is that this baby has those eyes – they were the first thing she'd noticed about him all those years ago and the first thing she fell in love with.

"I love you," he finally manages to choke out. "Both of you... so very much."

She leans up and kisses him. It's slow and tender, not one of the passionate, burning kisses that lead to frenzied lovemaking that have so often graced their marriage, nor is it one the many loving displays of affection they give one another throughout the day – no, this is a completely different type of kiss altogether. These are the kisses they share when it feels like the entire world is against them – the days and weeks following their failed elopement when it seemed that they would never find a way to escape, when her parents had written to say they would not be attending the wedding, and the night she told him that she was pregnant and all her fears had come pouring out just to name but a few – these are the kisses that they pour absolutely every single ounce of love and compassion into, the ones that tell each other "_I am yours and you are mine. Everything really is going to be alright so long as we can brave the storm together_."

Her fingers lazily caress his arm and, after what seems like an eternity, they finally break apart smiling.

"He's happy when I'm happy," she grins.

"And are you... happy, I mean?"

"Blissfully," she replies as she pulls him in for another kiss.

**_-xxx-_**

Sybil wakes some time later with a strange taste in her mouth – a craving for something that she can't quite put her finger on. She racks her brain trying to find the answer but, as she does, her thoughts are disturbed by what she thinks is Tom mumbling in his sleep again. She reaches out into the darkness expecting to find his arm but, when she doesn't, she opens her eyes and frowns in confusion. It takes her a minute to realise that he's very much awake and, having shuffled down the bed, has his cheek pressed to the swell of her stomach and is apparently talking to the baby in Gaelic. She listens to what he's saying for a moment, only able to pick out a few words that she recognises – they'd made a decision before they married, before they'd even left for Ireland, that they wanted their children to learn the language so that wherever the winds of change may take them they would always know where they came from. Tom and his sister, Órlaith, had also begun to teach Sybil and slowly but surely she was starting to get to grips with it.

"What are you doing?" she asks groggily, running her fingers through his hair.

"Ssshh," he replies, with a smile. "This is a private conversation."

"Well forgive me for interrupting then."

"We're done now," he says before turning his attention back to the baby. "_Oíche mhaith agus codladh sámh_, my little one," he adds and presses a soft kiss to his wife's belly which makes her giggle – oh how he loves to hear her laugh.

"He likes the sound of your voice," she says, snuggling into his chest as he moves back to rest against the pillows. "He didn't stop moving all the time you were speaking to him."

Tom sighs and wraps his arms tightly around her. "Do you think we'll be good parents?"

"I know **you** will be," Sybil replies – he knows her feelings on this matter, how scared she is about becoming a mother despite the excitement of it all. "Although I suspect Granny's convinced we're going to raise our own little revolutionary."

"Socialist," Tom replies, recalling the first conversation that they'd ever shared. "Not a revolutionary... although, now you mention it, that doesn't sound like a bad idea. It would certainly shake this place up a bit," he laughs.

"Oh, because it isn't like we've done enough of that already?"

"It's what your family expects of us now – and you said you always felt disappointed that you could never live up to their expectations. Well... here's your chance."

The pair of them laugh at the absurdity of this conversation before settling into a comfortable silence. As her eyelids become heavy and she feels sleep begin to weave it's spell over her once more, Sybil becomes lost in a memory of the past – of another life before the world changed and they along with it – and the words he'd said to her when they had been hidden away in their sanctuary of the garage late one night. "**_This_**," Sybil thinks to herself, "_is really all that matters_." This is her family now – **their** family – her wrapped in her darling husband's arms with their first child nestled between them...

"_The rest is detail_."

"Tom," she says aloud just before she completely nods off.

"Mmm?"

"I want some jam."

* * *

_ma mhuirnín - _My darling/sweetheart

_Oíche mhaith agus codladh sámh - _Goodnight and sleep well


End file.
